


The Haunting of Winter

by asparagusmama



Category: Midsomer Murders - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Grand Old House, Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:42:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27292132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asparagusmama/pseuds/asparagusmama
Summary: Jamie has a spooky experience while gathering evidence and statements on a Halloween afternoon
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	The Haunting of Winter

Midstonor Manor nestled between the Chiltern Hills, near where the River Mid met the Thames, a magnificent 16th century manor rebuilt and remodelled greatly in the 18th century, along with the restructuring of much of its grounds and gardens and extensive deer park. The house was in fact the first large, grand house to be built of red brick in the country. Before that, the medieval castle of the Midstonors had been atop of one of the hills, built of the local flint. The ruins nestled among the beech trees of the woodlands that covered the hills still. Although the Midstonors, or the Du Mileaux as they had once been before Tudor times, when they changed their name at the same time as their allegiance from Plantagenet to Tudor, had been in situ for 850 years. Like many, many, aristocrats not lucky enough to get lucrative location deals with ITV for historical fantasy nonsense, the Midstonors were forced to live in one wing, and hold open days and theme days and even have one wing converted to a small, luxury, exclusive, hotel. Not only were their ground beautiful, they had an old flint built 12th century chapel, and there had obviously been spiritual happenings for millennia before, as nestling behind an old, untouched, oak grove deep in the valley, was a stone circle. The house was miles from any larger Midsomer settlements, and the small hamlet of Midstonor has a few houses of old retainers and farm workers, and that was it. The nearest larger village was Badger’s Drift, but the two locales had nothing to do with each other.

It was a long drive to the far south west of the county, but Winter was having to do just that, as Midstonor Manor was the latest victim of the elusive burglar they had been trying to catch for months. Some of the older lags at the station said that ‘the Creeper’ had returned, as that had been a cat burglar who had operated in the early noughties while leaving no forensic evidence whatsoever. Midstonor was the largest and most exclusive target to this new creeper, or whoever, to take.

It took Jamie a long time to find the place, as the tiny lanes all twisted and turned in the steep hills and deep gullies of the Chilterns. Occasionally he caught a glimpse of the river through the trees and mist. It was a cold, autumn, misty day, for sure, and the clouds were heavy with rain. When one went over the higher hills of the Chilterns or Midsomer Downs, sometimes Jamie was sure he was driving in the clouds, particularly the Chilterns, as they were much higher and steeper than the gentle rolling Downs to the north west of the county.

It was gone four when he finally pulled up on the gravel. Uniform had already taken statements from the hotel staff and the National Trust staff who managed the main parts of the House open to the public, but this was a courtesy call to the old Dowager widow, Lady Midstonor – her son lived in London.

He was met at the door by a stately old butler, who looked like he was as old as the house, and playing a part. He asked for a name and calling card, his startlingly Midsomer blue eyes glaring down his long nose at Jamie. The butler was tall, with slicked back grey hair and a cravat done up under a high winged collar shirt, a waistcoat and tailed coat over this.

Nervously, Jamie handed the butler his card and gave his name and rank and followed him into the grand hallway and up a curled, ornate staircase, at the speed of a snail. Eventually, the butler opened an oak door into some kind of parlour, announcing,

“Detective Sergeant James Winter, My Lady.”

“Come in Sergeant. Would you like tea?”

“Um, thank you,” Jamie replied politely to the frail old lady, dressed in a silk dress and pearls, but wrapped in a wool tartan blanket.

“Tea for three Snowden, I feel it best if you join us, then we can all answer the questions together. I take it you already have spoken to the people who run the open house and the ‘otel, along with our day-staff?” she dropped the aitch as if she were speaking the BBC 1950s Queen’s English. “Any assistance we can in getting back the Hogson’s, in particular, but all of the missing items, we will gladly give Sergeant. I know your boss – I assume Mr Barnaby is your boss young man - was expecting the young Baron, but I had Snowden telephone to the police station to explain I was in residence.”

“The Chief Inspector told me to meet you, my Lady,” Jamie reassured the frail elderly lady, so old and frail she was barely there, a wisp of a thing. “Officers have taken statements, yes, but I will need to have a look around the entire House, not just your section, if that is possible?”

“Oh yes, Snowden has the keys, Sergeant. I had understood the Inspector was to come, that seems more appropriate, I feel.”

“I’m sorry Lady Midstonor, but Chief Inspector Barnaby was called away urgently, and asked me to attend in his place. He sends his apologies.”

“What on Earth could keep him? Murder I assume? Such a violent county we reside in.”

“Um, yes,” Jamie agreed, although his boss left urgently to meet Sarah at the hospital, as Betty had taken a tumble at her nursery, and needed an X-ray. He hoped she was alright. She had already showed him her costume for trick or treating this evening – a zombie police officer. Jamie suspected his boss had more than a little creative input into it.

*

Over tea he took their statements, and then Snowden offered to give him a tour of all the windows, and all the rooms with missing items. Remembering the man moved slower than a tortoise, Jamie quickly suggested he find his own way, he had drawn a map while taking their statements.

Most of the rooms in the north wing, the wing used by the family still, had rooms with dust sheets or rooms completely stripped of all olde worlde charm to tourists and Americans, and had brisk, practical Ikea furniture with magnolia walls. Jamie suspected that must be the son, who was a famous chef in London. He was just thinking this, as he came out of a room that perhaps was the son’s private sitting room when he was at home, when he heard a creak on the floorboards behind him. He looked around, but there was no one. He continued along the grand corridor, seeing the empty places of paintings among the larger, grander painting which, presumably, were too heavy to take. The two stolen were a lesser known Gainsborough portrait of a previous Baron, and a small Constable landscape of the stone circle. Hogson, Midsomer’s very own famous artist, has also painted the deer park and stone circle, and both these paintings were also missing. This was the most ambitious thefts of this burglar, as they had not before taken works of arts, just jewellery, antiques, and money.

Jamie spun around, startled, as he heard the creak again. He then could swear he could hear people in conversation at the end of the corridor, Nervously, he went along and opened the door, put no one was there, although the temperature in the room was icy compared to the rest of the already cold house. He took a moment to centre himself, and tried not to panic, as once he closed the door, he could again hear people talking.

He tried to focus on his assessment of the windows and missing items, making notes, taking photos, wondering if there was any point sending the forensics team in. He crossed into the open to the public areas, stepping over a red rope attached to fake gold stands to do this. As he did so, he could swear he could hear footsteps running up and down the corridor below him, on the ground floor.

He had completed his tour and was going back to the room when he felt someone tug on the bottom of his suit jacket, like a child might do so. He also instantly felt freezing. He spun around, but saw nothing, but did hear light footsteps retreating.

“Get a grip on yourself, Winter,” he told himself and opened the door to the room he had been in with the Lady and the butler. But the room was yet another one full of furniture covered in dustsheets. Confused he retraced his steps, but he was sure that was the room he had been in. He tried the rooms either side, and opposite, just in case, but of the frail old woman, the ancient butler, or even the bone China tea service, there was no sign. Disturbed, he made his way out as fast as he could.

Once outside, he took a deep breath, and tried to stop himself shivering. He heard a cry of a fox in the distance, and the bay of dogs. But he doubted there was a hunt, not only were they now illegal, dusk was not the time for the aristocracy to carry on with their traditions, as if they were above the law (and this they certainly did, monotonously). The sun had set while he had been inside, and the sky fast going from the purple of twilight to the very dark night of the middle of the country, with no streetlights. The house behind him was completely dark, no light was on at all, and yet there had been some on as he explored. The central large wing open to the public was also all in darkness, and the lights from the distance south wing were few, and cast little light in the darkness where Jamie stood, shaking.

Just then, there was the sound of an engine, and the crunch of gravel, and a Porsche fast approached him, pulling up beside his car. A young man got out, and Jamie recognised him, he was the 32nd Baron of Midstonor, also known as Jeremy Milieu, TV celebrity chef.

“Chief Inspector Barnaby?” he called out in the dark.

Jamie pulled himself together. “Um. No. He sends his apologies. I’m Winter. DS Winter.”

“Oh, okay. I’m terribly sorry sergeant, for being late, there was a pile up on the M40, been stuck in traffic for what feels like forever. I say, are you alright, you look white as a sheet, like you’ve seen a ghost. You need to look at the windows and the places the stolen items resided, that is right, isn’t it old chap?”

“Well, I’ve already done that, your butler…”

“Good lord, we’ve not had a butler for donkey’s years, not since my father was a boy.”

“Oh, and I suppose your mother is not an old lady with a curly grey boy and a fondness for silk dresses either?”

“My mother is not what one would call old, not if one wants to live, and the fortune she has spent on plastic surgery, I would not say she looks it anyway. She’d in our villa on St Lucia, in the West Indies, goes beginning of October, doesn’t come back until April.”

“But… but…”

The baron put his hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “I don’t want to say this, put I think you have seen some ghosts. Tell me, was this butler called Snowden?”

“Uh, yes…?”

“My great grandmother had an affair with the butler, went on for decades, but one day my great grandfather is said to have killed them both in a drunken rage. It was covered up as best as it could be, my great grandfather hustled off to a sanitorium for the mentally unstable and the bodies buried in the ground. Family myth, don’t know if it’s true. Hey, steady on!”

Jamie stumbled, and the cooking baron took him to his car, and helped him sit down.

“Are you sure you are okay to drive? Tell you want, let me drive you into Badger’s Drift, get you a drink. If you say you’ve actually been around the house, there is no point doing it again. Our house is full of spooky things, voices, footsteps, cold spots – as for the circle, won’t get the dogs going in there, or wild animals either. The horses will just rear up, terrified of it they are. Let me get you a drink, come on.”

Jamie shook his head, but checked his phone for the pictures, just in case he imagined that too. But no, photos of locks and places that once stood antiques or hung paintings were all there, in a file, ready to upload onto HOLMES 2 and Causton’s PNC intranet.

“I think I will just go, thank you my Lord.”

“Oh tosh, fuck that, it’s Jeremy. What’s your name? Will I see you again regarding this investigation? Are you sure I can’t be of assistance?”

Jamie looked at him a moment. Was he coming on to him? Had he just been told he had seen a ghost, as well?

“Possibly, my Lord, but I think, if possibly, I will prefer it if we need to talk to you, we do it at the station, or in London at your restaurant, to save you driving down again. I need to go now.”

And knowing he was being rude, and not caring, Jamie closed the door, put on his seatbelt, and drove off into the night, trying and failing not to freak out. 

Location shot – Stonor Park and Manor, near Henley on Thames

**Author's Note:**

> All except the ghostly murdered butler and his lady mistress, all the other happenings have been reported often at the ‘location’ Stonor House – the overheard conversations, the footsteps, banging doors (not mentioned here), cold spots and feeling being touched…  
> Also, it is reported than animals will not go in the stone circle, dogs react scared all over the grounds, and the circle often has a weird dead animal smell!


End file.
